


like real people do

by jomlette



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Established Relationship, I say yes, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), StaticLoveTune Week, Tenderness, Touch-Starved, is it really pining if they're already in a relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24958042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomlette/pseuds/jomlette
Summary: Temporarily back in their human bodies, Alastor and Vox have a moment.“You have a mouth,” he presses the pad of his finger against Alastor’s lower lip, “and I have a mouth.” His head tilts. “Interesting.”“Interesting.” Alastor echoes, snorting.“We could kiss properly now,” he muses, “for the first time.”
Relationships: Alastor/Vox (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 241





	like real people do

**Author's Note:**

> [slams laptop] THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SMUT but then al and vox decided to be sappy and sad instead. you can blame hozier for that
> 
> day four of stl week: magic/technology

The first thing he notices is the incessant ringing in his ears. Half of his face feels damp and heavy--- no, it’s blood, and Alastor is sideways on pavement. It’s a struggle to get himself upright, the muscles in his arms tense and sore, aggravated by the pounding in his head. Inspecting the blood reveals it to not be his own, thankfully. He brings a hand up to his ear and--- oh. 

Well. That’s foreboding. 

He doesn’t get to dwell on it because he’s suddenly aware of the fact that he isn’t alone. The ringing dies down into something more muted, and he’s able to make out a voice calling his name. Blinking away his blurred vision, he sees broken pavement, broken eggshells, and Charlie. 

While it wouldn’t be out of character for her to be skittish, considering the aftermath of some sort of battle he has woken up to, it seems that her skittishness stems from his presence. She shuffles her way carefully toward him. If he didn’t know her better, Alastor would say she’s afraid of him. A healthy dose of fear never hurt anyone, but he thought they’re relationship was past that at the very least. 

“Are you okay?” She asks, extending a hand. 

“Quite so!” His voice is different too, void of it’s usual static, but it could just be his sluggishness. He lifts his hand to meet hers, and stops. 

That hand is  _ not _ his. It was, it used to be, but that was decades ago. Certainly not now. 

“Where’s Vox?” Alastor asks as calmly as he can, Charlie pulling him up to his feet. They’re nearly the same height, with the bottom of his dress pants folding at his ankles. 

“I checked on him first, and he seems to be alright, but unconscious,” she explains. She doesn’t hide the way she stares at him. “The snake guy hit you two with some sort of ray gun. Angel’s friend managed to break his ship, but she also blew up the ray gun, so.”

So there was no way of recovering the device and checking for a reverse button. That’s as much as he expected. Vox’s form is not too far behind Charlie, face down and curled away, so he’s unable to survey how much he’s been altered. All he sees is that Vox is smaller, shorter than before, and beginning to stir.

Alastor steps past Charlie without further conversation. He kneels down and turns Vox over, revealing a pale face chiseled in pain. 

There’s blood on him, but thankfully upon closer inspection he can tell that it isn’t his. Wiping it away, Alastor finds himself tracing the frown lines between his dark eyebrows. The skin is softer than he expected. Vox groans, eyelids fluttering open, and Alastor is greeted by the bluest eyes he’s ever seen. 

“Hello there,” Alastor says.

He’s blank, for a moment. Then confused. He blinks a few more times.

“Al,” he coughs, voice raspy, unused.

The electronic hum he’s come to associate with Vox’s voice is absent, instead replaced with a richness that makes Alastor feel strange in the chest. He pushes that thought away from now, coming back to the situation at hand. 

They’re human. That snake inventor had something to do with it, and knowing the basics of Angel’s arsonist friend, she’ll probably have him hunted down by the end of the day. He flexes his fingers, feeling for magic, disappointed to find none. If that’s the case, then Vox’s ties to technology are likely null as well. Human and vulnerable in Hell, well isn’t that a fine way to spend an afternoon?

“We need to get back to the hotel,” Alastor speaks loud enough for Charlie behind him to hear, pulling Vox up into a sitting position. “Can you walk?”

His head sways dangerously, hands cupping over his nose and mouth. Before Alastor can ask what’s wrong, he gets his answer pretty quick. 

At least Vox had the courtesy to turn away from him before emptying the contents of his stomach.

* * *

Alastor stares at the bathroom door like it personally slighted him.

Vox had his hands over his nose for the entire duration of their ride back, sitting as far as he could from both Alastor and Charlie, muttering something about the “stench of death”. Once they made it to the hotel, he locked himself up in Alastor’s washroom and hasn’t emerged since. 

That was at least an hour ago. In that time, Alastor cleaned every crevice of his bedroom and then himself, because Vox keeping his distance hurt a disproportionate amount, even if it is just because of his newly recovered and extremely sensitive sense of smell. 

Peering into a mirror to find his old reflection staring back induces something of a vertigo in him. It’s like a picture show. He almost wishes it was a picture show, because at least then he could have the option of turning it off. 

How long had it been, since he’s had this face? 

Without any styling oil, his curly hair bounces freely. Alastor’s almost forgotten what it’s like to have hair unobstructed by enormous ears. His skin, once ashen and grey, is now a healthier, tanned shade. As he rolls up the sleeves of a dress shirt he borrowed from Charlie, the bathroom door finally swings open. 

Vox steps out, oversized dress shirt half buttoned and dress pants rolled up to his ankles. 

“Vomiting fucking sucks.” Vox grimaces. 

“ _ That’s _ what you have to say for this predicament?” Alastor snorts, meeting him halfway across the bedroom. 

“I’m taking this one step at a time, the vomit seemed like the safest thing to complain about.” He shakes his dark hair out, water droplets dampening the collar of his shirt. It’s a little longer than Alastor’s, the longest wavy strands falling to his cheekbones. 

Vox sniffs once, twice, honing in on the bowl of soup on the nightstand. “Is that…?”

“For you? Of course.” Alastor smiles, fetching the small bowl and spoon. “I’ve listened to you whine about my cooking too many times to pass up this opportunity. Sit on the bed and try not to make a mess.”

Vox plops down on the bed eagerly, regarding the bowl of soup like a priceless gift. Alastor sits next to him, watches him stir the soup and lift some of the broth to his lips with the spoon. After he puts it into his mouth, he pauses. 

When he stays still for a few seconds too long, Alastor starts to get concerned.

Finally, he pulls the spoon out with a pop, and digs into the meal wholeheartedly. 

With how fast he’s eating, Alastor’s surprised that he hasn’t spilled any of it yet. He lets him eat in peace, using the time to really look at his transformed companion. Of all the things that have changed, his face is the one Alastor still getting used to. Considering the fact that he had a television as a head up until an hour ago, his intrigue is to be expected. He hadn’t ever considered what Vox might have looked like up top. He hadn’t imagined the crooked bridge of his nose, or the fullness of his eyebrows, or the way his eyes squint in happiness. 

He doesn’t have to imagine it now. It’s all right in front of him.

In between spoonfuls, Vox sniffles. This happens a few more times before Alastor sees his eyes watering. Gently, he pries the half finished bowl out of hands and back to the nightstand before shuffling closer. 

“Sorry, it’s nothing, it’s just...” Vox stammers, shaking his head. 

“A lot?”

“A whole fucking lot.” He’s smiling, full set of teeth on display. “I can smell, I can taste, I can  _ cry.  _ Like, actual god forsaken tears.” He ruffles part of the bedsheets with the palm of his hand. “And I can feel.”

The sheet wrinkles under his touch. Vox runs his fingers through each individual stitch, and Alastor can only imagine a fraction of relief the other man must feel. It’s one thing to be told how muted his sense of touch is, and it’s another to actually have to live every day just feeling a little disconnected from the world they live in.

Alastor experiences it too, in a way. He hadn’t ever realized that his suits were a blood red rather than the brown he believed them to be, but that’s a small thing in comparison, he muses. 

“Best enjoy it while it lasts, dear,” Alastor lays his hand over Vox’s own, “That snake is clever, but not a miracle worker. We don’t know how long this will last.”

He hates to put a damper on the man’s excitement, but it is a necessary reminder. There hasn’t been news of a technology in Hell that can alter physical appearance to this extent, and if Alastor’s hunch is correct, and it usually is, then this transformation is the work of magic. Knowing a thing or two about magic, he knows that this sort of work will only be effective for so long before the inner workings of Hell revert them back to their bastardized forms of punishment. 

Vox hums, looking down at their connected hands, parting his fingers to allow Alastor’s fingers to slot between them. 

“I broke my phone in the fight,” he says, “I can’t get in touch with Val or Vel.”

“Can’t you just---” Alastor points to his face, but stops himself mid sentence, “ah, right. You’ve got a human head instead of a screen now.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “I tried to text them in the shower, but uh. Not too much luck with that.” His grin falls minutely. “My head’s a lot quieter now.”

“Likewise.” The static and sound effects that usually bounced around himself were gone, leaving a poignant quietness he isn’t used to. It’s baffling how he spent thirty three years up top without them.

Without powers, without technology, and bound to the walls of Alastor’s bedroom. At least they’ve got each other to entertain. 

Speaking of which, Vox chooses that moment of contemplation to run a finger through Alastor’s hair, taking a small curl and rubbing it with his thumb and forefinger. 

“You look lovely, too.” 

As Vox traces down the curve of Alastor’s cheekbone, he lets himself close his eyes and enjoy the gentle touch. Rather than the danger of claws he’s accustomed to, it’s the softness of the flesh that makes his heart beat a little faster. When the touch reaches the corner of his lip, he opens his eyes.

Their close proximity means he can see how much Vox’s eyes have dilated, betraying his unaffected expression. 

“You have a mouth,” he presses the pad of his finger against Alastor’s lower lip, “and  _ I  _ have a mouth.” His head tilts. “Interesting.”

“Interesting.” Alastor echoes, snorting. 

“We could kiss properly now,” he muses, “for the first time.”

He throws the idea out into the air with a forced casualness. Alastor knows him well enough to see through it. The way Vox holds his breath and watches for his reaction shines through his nonchalant mask.

Normally, Alastor wouldn’t soften his touch for anyone, Vox included. It’s simply not how he operates, but the sheer  _ vulnerability _ before him makes something inside him melt a little. He brings a hand up to Vox’s face, slowly as to not startle him, and brushes back the loose strands. Closing his eyes, Alastor brings their lips together. 

It’s not as if he hasn’t kissed anyone before, but with Vox it feels like something entirely new, more fragile. Vox sighs into the kiss, melting against his gentle touch. He shifts closer so that they’re flush chest to chest, not an inch of space between them, cupping Vox’s jaw with both of his hands. His lips are softer than he imagined. 

Vox trembles against him. Alastor pulls away, and leans his forehead against his. 

“Too much?” 

“No,” Vox breathes, barely above a whisper, “not enough.” 

He brings them back together messily, kissing much more forcefully. Alastor has no trouble meeting him beat by beat, more comfortable with this pace. A hand finds itself on the base of his throat, and another goes under his shirt and massages the flesh underneath. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t granted any sort of attention, Vox desperate to touch and feel every sensation he can. 

And taste too, Alastor muses, as Vox moves down to mouth at his neck.    


“Not too high,” he tugs at Vox’s hair, only earning himself a half groan.

“Didn’t take you for a shy one,” he teases, but moves down closer to Alastor’s collarbone anyway. 

“Oh, I’m far from shy, dear. But I wouldn’t want to risk Charlie giving you the boot if she sees, you know how terribly finicky she can be.”

Vox chuckles at that, and with his face still pressed against his neck Alastor feels the vibrations. “That’d be terrible indeed.”

Alastor lets himself fall back onto the bed, letting out an “oomph” as Vox lands his full weight on him. It’s comfortable, like a weighted blanket. And it feels safe. Somehow, their height and mass difference remained proportional in their transformation, which irked him initially, but the all encompassing embrace of his companion is only heightened by it. He feels Vox take a deep breath against his skin.

They lay for a moment, only their breathing punctuating the quiet. He’s never quite noticed how loud the thrum of Vox’s static used to be, never mind his own, but without that buffer the quiet almost seems pervasive. The absence of that white noise allows weirder thoughts to enter Alastor’s mind, things that he’d seldom think about. Like how he’s never really  _ seen _ what Vox looks like in his demon form, with his new found discovery of his colour blindness. Like how this is their first kiss, and maybe their last once the magic fades. Like how, if Vox had been born a decade earlier, they could have spent their lives up top like this, together and human.

Like regular people. 

No, not regular people, he second guesses. If he’d said that out loud Vox would most certainly be offended. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” Vox murmurs, blue eyes meeting brown.

“Thinking about you,” Alastor replies in full honesty. 

He’s pleased by the response, Alastor can tell. He’s as transparent as ever, eyes squinting and nose scrunching. Somehow, Vox finds a way to hold him tighter, and Alastor squeezes back just as hard, as if trying to fuse into one. 

“‘m gon’ miss this,” Vox’s voice is muffled against him, the vibrations tickling, “‘gon miss feelin’ you like this. ‘gon miss your scent.” He catches the hitch in his breath.

Alastor is certain that if he were to lift his head up, he would see his tears again. There are many things he could say to console him, but how do you console the loss of connection that’s inevitable to prevent? Imagining living life inside a glass box, seeing and hearing, but never feeling. Never  _ connecting _ . That would be his own personal hell. Instead, Alastor does the only thing he can think of that could comfort him.

He coaxes Vox’s head more to the left, turning it so that his ear is pressed right against his chest. 

“You’ll still have me,” Alastor leaves it at that.

Human hearing is inferior to Vox’s mechanical range in his demon form. Even so, Alastor’s heart beats a little faster, knowing it has an audience listening to its tune. 

**Author's Note:**

> twitter is [jojomlette](https://twitter.com/jojomlette) :D


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